


November 2018, California - Part III

by germanjj



Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [8]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Boys In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanjj/pseuds/germanjj
Summary: Sometimes love is so clear to see, visible for everyone around you, and yet you're not able to reach out and touch it, grab it, pull it towards you. It's like it's buried under clear glass.And sometimes, when you're reaching out and finally do touch it, you have to make a choice.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657570
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85





	November 2018, California - Part III

He finds me outside, by myself, a cigarette in my hand. It's almost burned down to the filter where I had only taken one pull of it before I had forgotten all about it and instead been staring into the dark, chilly night as if I could find all the answers in the dark. The sounds of the party are quiet from here, the night winding to an end. 

Timmy looks at me but doesn't say a word, just settles right next to me with a long sigh, staring into the same nothingness, seeing the same memories. 

"I don't wanna lose you." It's a confession as much as it's echoing my own thoughts, and it comes so fragile out of his mouth, I throw my cigarette to the ground, stomp on it, and face him. 

I wait till he looks up, really looks, meeting my eyes cautiously, and now that I have his full attention I stop myself from reaching out to touch him also, as if my words can not have the same meaning without the physical connection, but physical connection is what has brought us into this mess, so my words alone will have to do. 

"I promised you before-," I whisper, "-and I promise you now: you will never lose me, okay? But man, I can't stand the thought that I'm hurting you and I don't know what to do to change that. But I'm here for as long as you want me here."

Timmy studies my face, his eyes dancing over my features, and I can feel every caress like a physical touch. Then he nods, slowly, like the words are sinking through mud and molasses, a thick mixture of doubt and fear, and I realize it is not my words that will be able to make him believe me.

"Am I still staying at your place?" he asks, and I want to wipe the uncertainty off his face. Of course, we had invited him to stay the night at our guest-house. Everything else would have been ridiculous. He'd stayed there multiple times, so much so that we knew his favorite sheets and what he would eat in the morning for breakfast, both when he had early appointments and when he had a whole day to himself. 

"Of course." I glance through a window back into the venue, see people dancing and chatting, with glasses in their hands and big smiles on their faces. I turn back to Timmy. "Ready to go home?"

He nods. Another sigh. "Yeah, let's go home."

We get to my car and I open the passenger side door for him, earning a chuckle for my efforts, which I return with a grin. Then I round the car and take a deep breath, eyes closed in an effort to collect myself, and open my own door. 

I want us to be okay after this. I need us to be okay, desperately so. I need to know that he will remain the constant he's been in my life, that his love will remain in my life, and when did I get so dependent on him? On his opinion of me, his joy? His love?

We drive the short way back to my house in silence. I glance over from time to time and find him staring out of the window, biting on the nail of his left thumb. 

I park the car in its usual spot and turn off the engine. There's no light in the house, just a small motion-triggered spot by the porch that went on when we came up the driveway, welcoming us home. I glance at the clock on my phone, and I'm surprised to find that the sun would soon start to rise again. 

Neither of us moves. Something heavy sits in the car with us and it's taking up all the room. This night has inevitably changed something, and we both know it. Like two thieves or two murderers, we are both sitting with the truth of it outside of my house, my wife and children sleeping peacefully inside. 

To say we hadn't really done anything wrong yet would be a bitter, painful lie and would only play up all those times we had not acted against the vow I had made at the altar but had planted the seeds for a much deeper betrayal. A betrayal Timmy has no part in and yet is at the center of. The way my heart jumps when I make him laugh, the way it clenches when he doesn't know I'm watching him and I find all of his emotions play on his face. The way I think about him when he's not there. And the way I feel about him when he is. 

"You know," Timmy starts, turning to face me. "My sister and I used to do this thing whenever we wanted to talk about something, but not really talk about it, you know? Like embarrassing stuff."

"Okay?" I encourage him to go on, though I feel my pulse speed up where my fingers touch my wrist. 

"We would set a timer for five minutes, and then we could talk about absolutely anything, and once the time was up, we would pretend the conversation never happened, and neither was allowed to hold what was said over the other."

I have a sudden urge to avoid his eyes. His all-knowing eyes, displaying what he sees in mine like a mirror. Of course, I know what he is asking with his little story. 

Five minutes is a dangerously long time. It's an eternity, it's two lives crossing paths and living and dying in the span of something as fleeting as a handful of minutes. I fear what we could say in five minutes. What we could do. With all gates removed, no obstacles. Just him and me in a car, in a vacuum of time. Five minutes that have never happened once they're up. 

I turn the phone in my hand several times before I look down and unlock it.

"One minute," I announce, my voice hoarse, and then I start the timer and place the phone in the cup-holder between us. "What did you want to talk about?" I try and sound ridiculous even to my own ears. 

Timmy's gaze is sharp when it lands on me, and then he's unbuckling his seat belt in one swift motion. 

"I don't wanna talk," he says, moving out of his seat, a hand grasping my shoulder, the other my face and he twists his body just enough so he can climb on top of me, knees digging into my thighs, and then he's in my lap, pulling me in and crashing his lips against mine.

Instinct takes over, my body takes over, my whole being zeroes in on this one moment, the myriad of places where we touch, where our lips meet in something as simple and fundamental as a kiss. I bury one hand in his hair and the other slips under his jacket, touching that delicate skin again, my fingers tingling when they're finally free to do so, to explore, to rake their nails gently down his spine, following his every move as he curls against them. 

I open my mouth to his, lips and tongues and teeth biting desperately at one another, trying to satiate a connection that is spilling over from hearts and thoughts into physical touch, never getting close enough. We fill up the car with noises, with moans and gasps, with heavy breathing and rustling of clothes as he grinds against me, with the wet sounds of tongues exploring each other. 

Having him on top of me is far more intoxicating than I had ever imagined. The taste of him far sweeter and far darker, so rich that kissing him feels like I can now live on it and would never need food nor water. It's overwhelming and familiar all at once, an edge to what has already been there before but what had time to fester and to grow, slashing its roots deep into the soil. There's a newfound rhythm, one that's only us, stripped off of Oliver and Elio, down to the core, just him and me. Just our desire and our longing and our love. 

When the phone chimes and announces the end to our minute, we freeze. Timmy pulls away slightly, his dark eyes meeting mine.

He looks wrecked and beautiful, and I can't breathe, feel my chest tighten at the sight of him so much that I let go of his neck and press a hand to my heart as if it would ease the pain. 

His eyes follow the gesture, and heartbreak flinches over his face.

Then he opens the driver's side door and untangles himself from me, cool air hitting my heated body, cooler even now that Timmy's weight and Timmy's heat is gone from my lap.

I watch him stalk towards the guest house. He doesn't turn around to look back.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't plan on writing more of that night but since some of you commented on it, I shuffled some stuff around. (and I'm glad I did!) Hope you liked it! :)
> 
> Now I'm getting closer to the end of the series and running a bit into pacing issues, with this added scene here. London 2019 will definitely be a part of the series (how could I not?) but I was wondering if you have any other events that happened I might want to explore/ include?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos and commenting!!


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